


From the Journal of Harry Potter

by semaphoredrivethru



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Epistolary, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-16
Updated: 2003-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 18:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semaphoredrivethru/pseuds/semaphoredrivethru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was for the merrywizards Harry Potter Slash Secret Santa 2003.</p>
    </blockquote>





	From the Journal of Harry Potter

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the merrywizards Harry Potter Slash Secret Santa 2003.

_25 December, 2003_

Ever since my first Christmas at Hogwarts, I have thought that each year was the best of any before. I had never gotten more than new hand-me-downs from the Dursleys until that morning that I woke to what seemed like a small mountain of gifts from people who actually cared about me. Except, that is, for that one year that I spent with Mrs. Figg when I was nine years old; she made a fruit cake for me, and even though I wasn't too fond of it, I ate until I was quite literally sick from it.

But this year I would have to say will always be remembered as my best Christmas ever.

A year ago yesterday, I wouldn't have believed someone if they told me I would even be here today, writing in this journal. I was thick in the fight against Voldemort then, and I felt absolutely consumed by an aching loneliness that none of my friends could help with. I had even, once or twice, thought about just giving up life entirely. 

That's the beauty of this journal; I can say things like that, and not have to keep looking over my shoulder for the men in the white coats. My friends have always meant well, but there have been very few people in my life who have understood the darkness that I have danced with since before I understood what it was. But there was one, who, even a year ago, understood me better and saw much more than I could have realized. Until that night, one year ago.

It was fifteen minutes to midnight on Christmas Eve, and I had been lying awake in my bed for nearly two hours, pretending that I hadn't been having trouble sleeping. Suddenly, the large house that was the current headquarters for the Order was wracked with a series of explosions. The portraits on the walls screamed in terror even as I jumped out of bed, wand in hand. My training took over as I stalked down the wide hall, keeping to the shadows as I moved towards the source of the billowing black smoke that was beginning to fill the house. My scar stung fiercely, and I was filled with a grim determination that tonight would be the end of it, one way or another.

I was grateful right then that I was the only one in the house that night, even though earlier I had allowed myself to feel bitter that every one of my friends and colleagues had somewhere else more important to be until late Christmas day. At that moment, as I heard voices raised in excitement in the front hall, all it meant to me was that I didn't have to worry about causing the death of yet another loved one.

And then, suddenly, Voldemort was there.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs, but when he saw me, he lunged up towards me. He was just as hideous as I remembered, his face more serpentine -- a word I had to look up to be able to properly describe him -- than human, and the translucent skin of his hands stretched tightly over his knuckles as he raised his wand to hurl the first curse at me. I dodged it, and returned fire.

We went back and forth, cursing and counter-cursing, for what felt like forever. I began to realize that I felt twice as drained as I should, and that Voldemort looked just as fresh as he could. As though I were the only one working to maintain our deadly duel.

He must have seen the realization on my face, because Voldemort grinned cruelly as he hurled the Killing Curse at me. With scant inches to spare, I lunged behind a table that splintered from the impact of the magic. Exhausted, I began to panic; if I was right, and Voldemort was feeding off of my power, then I was doomed to lose this fight.

I do not know what possessed me to do what I did next. Maybe it was the memory of some mostly forgotten lesson, or maybe it was pure instinct; either way, I acted without thinking twice. I placed the tip of my wand against my scar, and focused all of my remaining energy to funnel through my hand and up my wand. I spoke no words, only thought about my desire to see this link severed and Voldemort dead.

In the distance, I dimly heard the sounds of fighting on the ground floor. I was impressed at the speed with which this person had responded to our breached wards, but the thought fled my mind as I was overtaken with intense dizziness. I fell backwards, my wand still clutched in my hand.

Looking over, I saw Voldemort had fallen as well, and that he seemed to be melting away before my eyes.

Silence fell, and blackness began to take me. Just before I lost all awareness, I heard a familiar voice call my name, and I was wrapped in a pair of warm, strong arms that cradled me.

"Harry," he said. "Harry, you did it!"

I tried for a smile, but I'm sure it never made it to my face as I finally slipped into unconsciousness.

I woke up in St. Mungo's a week later.

Remus was there, sleeping in a rather uncomfortable looking plastic chair across the private room. I remember every detail of that moment; how the early morning sunlight crept across the sill to highlight his light brown hair and the worry lines between his eyes even as he shifted restlessly. My shoulders felt lighter somehow, and I quietly crept out of bed on unsteady legs towards the W.C. I looked in the mirror, but didn't notice my horribly pale skin or messy hair; instead, all I saw was that my scar, the brand I had lived with all my life, had faded to the dull, pale brown of a long-healed wound.

I heard footsteps behind me, and flicked my gaze to see Remus standing in the doorway, his honey coloured eyes shining in relief as he smiled softly.

"I'm glad you're awake," he said. His voice raised a memory in my mind from just after Voldemort fell, and I knew that Remus had been the one that night.

"I'm glad you're here," I said with my voice hoarse from disuse. I hadn't meant to say that, but I didn't regret it; I certainly was glad he was there.

He smiled at me, and then helped me back to bed without a word. Of all the others who could have been there when I woke, I knew that Remus would be the one who could be content to sit quietly until I had my thoughts sorted, and then began my explanation on my own.

Over the next couple of days, between the inevitable flood of visitors and inquisitors, Remus filled me in on what I had missed. When Voldemort fell, he had taken a number of his Death Eaters with him, and most of those that didn't die would be spending the rest of their days in the mental ward of Azkaban. All members of the Order had been given the Order of Merlin, First Class, except for Mundungus Fletcher, who had been the one to betray us to the Death Eaters.

By the time I left St. Mungo's, I was grateful for Remus' offer to come stay with him for a while. He lived in a small cottage in the woods, and I was excited at the prospect of relative solitude. Instead, I found myself seeking Remus out for conversation on a daily basis, and then taking his advice to go to University via correspondence. With his support and encouragement, by the time six months was up, I had completed nearly a full year's worth of study.

Gradually, I came to realize that Remus meant far more to me than any other friend I had ever known. His quiet, unassuming nature belied his determined spirit and stalwart heart, and I began drawing him into personal conversations in order to get to know more about him. When I returned to London at the end of this past summer, I continued our conversations via regular owls.

Then, one morning about a month ago, I woke up to see the first snow fall of the season, and all I could think was how I wanted to share that sight with Remus. A rather innocuous thought, but it made me realize that there was much more that I wanted to share with him. And so, swallowing my sudden uncertainty, I apparated to his cottage, and told him what I had barely realized myself.

"Remus," I said, "I love you."

I will never forget the smile on his face that morning, as the snow dusted his hair and shoulders, and his eyes sparkled far brighter than the sun ever could. He closed the distance between us, and lightly touched my cheek with his chilled fingers.

"I love you, too," he said.

We had no trouble deepening our friendship to a love affair, and despite my flat being in London, we spent every available moment together. The nights were the worst, though; my bed, though soft and snug, was a cold, lonely place without Remus, even though we hardly went beyond intense kisses and a few bold caresses. I craved his touch almost as I craved simply being with him.

We decided to spend this Christmas together at his cottage, he in his room, and I in my old one. But last night, after a lingering dinner, we shared his bed after all. We did not make love in the conventional sense, but we curled around each other tightly, and woke together this morning with our limbs still entwined.

I didn't want to lose the warmth and intimacy we shared in our nest of blankets, so I _Accio'd_ the gift I had bought for Remus. I had seen the silver and amber ring in a small shop in Diagon Alley that looked as though it had been wedged between the Quidditch supply store and the discount robe outlet as an afterthought, and I had known instantly that it was perfect for him.

"I was right," I breathed as he easily slid the ring onto his finger. "It is the same colour as your eyes."

I don't think I will ever get enough of Remus' smile. I love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, and how there is always a momentary flash of teeth as though he cannot contain his happiness.

Then he handed me two packages. "Open this one first," he instructed with the larger one. I did, and inside I found this journal. "So you can always have someone to talk to," he said.

"I have you, don't I?" I asked.

"Always," he vowed, and handed me the other. It was heavy, and I thought I felt metal through the tissue that it was wrapped in.

"But I only got you the one," I lamented as I opened it. It was a key; the old fashioned kind, it was acting as a key ring for a more modern one that matched the one he already carried for his cottage.

"I would like for…" he said, but trailed off as I sat there in silence. "Harry?"

"Yes," I said, and looked up at him. "I would like that too."

We kissed to seal the agreement, and this time we didn't pull apart as our bodies responded to each other. Instead, we finally let our love guide the way, and made love for the first time.

Now hours later, I sit at Remus' desk by the fireplace in his bedroom -- our bedroom now -- and I am filled with an intense joy at the memories of this morning. There is no darkness within me, not even to lurk far from the edges of my mind. And while I am sure that there will be many very Happy Christmases in the future, I know that none will surpass today.

Today, I have finally found the true meaning of the love of Christmas and of what it is to completely and totally love and be loved by a man as wonderful and unique as Remus.

And I am happy.

_End excerpt._


End file.
